


Camille's Legacy

by Candy_A



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Series: Camille
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 04:37:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candy_A/pseuds/Candy_A
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Blair continues to struggle with his emotions over Camille's death, Jim seeks the answers to her inexplicable suicide, leading the two men to some revelations of their own.<br/>This story is a sequel to Going Home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Camille's Legacy

**Author's Note:**

> I'm indulging in creating my own universe here--taking into account only what's happened through the episode "Love Kills". Please consider it on another plane than the ongoing televised series.

## Camille's Legacy

by Candy Apple

Author's disclaimer: UPN and Pet Fly own the guys and The Sentinel. No money being made--at least not by me. :-)

* * *

Camille's Legacy  
by Candy Apple 

Camille Roberts was buried on a cold, clear spring day in early April. The church where the funeral was held could only be described as massive, with sharp spires and elaborate stained glass windows. St. Joseph's was the oldest church in Cascade, and its congregation consisted of much of the city's "old money". Camille's family was no exception to the generalization. Her father was the CEO of a major investment firm, and her mother was well-known in the community for her numerous civic activities. Their daughter's choice to live in a run-down apartment instead of in the family's stately home was one that seemed to puzzle some of the mourners who had milled around the funeral home the day before, but it was a choice Jim could certainly understand, given his own background. 

The detective had found himself at the funeral home the previous day because there was something too damned desolate about Blair going by himself. Jim didn't know the girl or her family, but he knew Blair, and his partner was taking this very hard. 

There were times when Jim had to admire the younger man's strength and courage, and today was one of those times. Camille's mother had asked Blair to speak at the funeral, along with one of the girl's friends, a favorite aunt and a former high school teacher. So Blair made his way up to the lectern, as soon as the other teacher was finished, before the friend and the aunt spoke. Despite the huge surroundings, the large group of expensively-dressed mourners present or his own grief, Blair was at home behind a podium. For what he may have lacked in the traditional definition of a "commanding appearance" in settings like these, he more than made up for as soon as he opened his mouth. Blair's intelligence and eloquence almost always served him well. 

"I was very surprised, and flattered, when Janice, Camille's mother, asked me to speak here today. I'm honored to be able to share a few reflections about a truly remarkable young woman." Glasses in place, hair tied back, Blair was in his "professor mode", as Jim liked to call it. But now, Blair took off the glasses and tucked them in the pocket of his suit coat, stacking up his two note cards. 

"I wrote a few things down, but one of the things Camille enjoyed most in class was spontaneous discussion. She never used note cards when she gave a presentation. Personally, that blew me away," Blair said, smiling. "She surpassed me on that one. I like to be spontaneous, but no note cards is sort of like dancing on the highwire without a net. But Camille loved what she studied, and it interested her, and when she spoke, everyone listened." Blair paused, casting his gaze toward the flower-laden casket in the front of the church. "I have been fortunate enough to encounter quite a few promising students in my brief career on the other side of the desk, so to speak. All of them have something wonderful to offer, all of them have the potential to make a very real contribution to academia--and to the _real world_ too," Blair added, drawing a few chuckles. 

"Camille was special. She took a joy in learning that made it an equal joy to be teaching her. But I don't think I can take credit for _teaching_ her anything. I can only take credit for providing her with information, some guidance on where to learn more. I have felt this loss so profoundly not only because she was far too young, but because I had an immense respect for her mind, and I was truly looking forward to going head to head with her as a colleague someday. Dreading it a little, too, maybe, but mostly looking forward to it." Blair smiled, and it was returned by many people in the church. "She was already asking me about graduate school, her sights set on becoming Dr. Camille Roberts. _I'm_ not even there yet, and I had serious suspicions Camille would get there first." 

"Perhaps one of the saddest parts of speaking at the funeral of such a young person, just starting out on their own path in life, is that there aren't a lengthy list of accomplishments to read off--impressive job titles, civic honors, professional affiliations. Camille did not live long enough to garner those, and so it's very difficult to express to those who didn't know her what she was capable of. Please accept my humble opinion as an anthropologist and student of human nature that Camille was bound for greatness." 

"Finally, I was impressed by what an energetic, wonderful person Camille was. She was funny, interesting, kind, socially aware--a very special person. I know she will be sadly missed at Rainier University. The future generations of students who would have benefited from her joy in learning and desire to devote her life to education and study are much poorer for her passing, as are we all." 

"Camille, thank you for spending so much of your brief time with us at Rainier, and for all the wonderful, stressful debates you put me through in class. You were one of a kind." Blair paused a moment, his head bowed, and then slowly walked back to his seat next to Jim in a pew halfway toward the back of the church. 

Jim watched his partner take a few deep, very shaky breaths and work at calming himself. He had made it through this day without breaking down, and he seemed determined to continue in that manner. 

"That was beautiful, Chief," Jim whispered to the smaller man, reaching over to squeeze his hand. He was surprised when Blair latched onto his hand tightly, lacing their fingers. 

"Thanks for being here," he whispered back. Jim just gave the hand in his another squeeze and continued to hold it through the rest of the service. 

Camille's friend spoke of the girl's kindness, concern for her friends, her sunny personality and her dedication to her studies. Camille's aunt shared some reminiscences from childhood, and her relationship to her favorite niece. 

//Something's very wrong with this picture,// Jim thought to himself as he heard the glowing words of praise, watched the genuine grief in the parents of the dead girl, and had found nothing in the coroner's report to indicate any trace of substance abuse or illness. This girl was healthy, brilliant, well-loved--so why was she dead? Jim honestly wondered if Blair would find any peace at all until he knew the answer, if in fact there was one that could be unearthed. 

Looking at the sadness in Blair's expression, and feeling the pressure of the hand clamped to his own, Jim made up his mind to find that answer. 

The grave side service was brief, with a few words spoken by the minister and a stirring a capella performance of "Amazing Grace" by a tall, pretty African-American voice student from the University who was one of Camille's close friends. 

Determined to complete the circuit with Blair, Jim accompanied him to make a brief appearance at the funeral dinner. Camille's mother was in no shape to visit socially with anyone, and her father was only marginally more composed that his devastated wife. Nonetheless, when Jim saw an opportunity to speak to Mr. Roberts privately for a moment when both men were in the men's room washing their hands, he seized it. 

"Mr. Roberts, I hope you won't be offended by my asking you about Camille, but as a detective, I have to say I have no insight into why a brilliant, promising young woman like her would take her own life." 

"I didn't think that was up to the police to determine since it was a...suicide." The older man wiped his hands on some paper towel and threw it away. 

"It isn't. But Blair is a very close friend of mine, and he's been deeply affected by Camille's passing, and I guess for that reason, I'd like to be able to learn the 'why' behind it." 

"I tried to give my daughter everything. I don't just mean materially. I know she never wanted for anything in that manner either. But she was our pride and joy--our only daughter. I don't know where it went wrong. I don't really want to discuss it any further." And with that, he turned and strode out the door. 

//Probably a tasteless and useless time to talk to him,// Jim concluded, wiping off his own hands and heading out the door. //But when else would I do it? Just drop in on them sometime and ask them why she did it?// Then a thought flashed through Jim's mind like a light in the darkness. //Jerome Roberts...J.R.--an investment broker that his father had known quite well, and whose services he had used often. The two men had seen each other socially, on the golf course and at the club. 

While Jim considered his relationship to his father improved, it was by no means stress-free, and visiting the elder Ellison wasn't at the top of Jim's list of activities. But perhaps William Ellison would know something about the family that only other wealthy people in the same social circle might know. His father was out of town on a brief vacation to visit Jim's aunt and uncle in Florida at the moment, but he was expected back by the end of the week. Jim made a mental note to call him. 

* * *

Blair tossed his keys in the basket and his coat on the hook near the door, even though his dress coat usually went on a hanger in his closet. Moving slowly into the kitchen, he put water on to boil and dug around through his collection of herbal teas until he found something that suited him. 

"Doin' okay, Chief?" Jim asked, pausing at the foot of the stairs before going up to change his clothes. 

"Yeah, I'm all right." Blair turned away from the stove. "Thanks for going with me." 

There was something still bothering Jim about Blair's reaction to all this that made him ask another question. 

"I know Camille was one of your favorite students, and you thought a lot of her, but is there something else--beyond the obvious--bothering you about this?" 

"It's probably nothing," Blair responded. 

"Why don't you tell me about it?" Jim pulled out a chair at the table. Blair moved the pot off the burner and turned it off, joining his partner. 

"You remember I had the flu, the week before Camille died?" 

"I remember," Jim responded, remembering only too vividly the high fever and numerous ugly symptoms Blair had suffered through just before Camille's death. 

"When I was first coming down with it--well, actually, it was right after I called you to come get me." Blair referred to his phone call to Jim at headquarters since Blair had gotten a lift with him that morning and was stranded at the University when he started feeling ill. "Camille stopped by my office, and asked me if she could talk to me. I felt really lousy--my head was pounding, I was nauseous... Anyway, I told her I was sick and on my way home, and I didn't even ask her what she wanted. Jim...what if...what if it was something really important?" Blair bit his lip and looked down again. "That was the last time I ever saw her alive." 

"Blair, you were sick. When I picked you up, your fever was 102 and rising. I think you can be forgiven for not being as friendly or understanding as you normally would be." 

"Yeah, but if that was the difference of life or death--" 

"First of all, Chief, you didn't do anything wrong by saying no to a student who stopped in to talk when you were sick and I was due to arrive any minute. You knew I was busy, you didn't want to keep me waiting either." 

"Ended up keeping you all day." Blair rolled his eyes a little self-consciously. Seeing that Blair was too ill to do much of anything for himself and his fever was rising, Jim had called Simon and taken the rest of that day--and the next--off to take care of him. 

"Hey, what're friends for, right?" 

"Normally, they're not the people I throw up on." 

"I've had worse thrown at me. Though I can't remember exactly when, now that you mention it." Jim smiled a little, and Blair returned it half-heartedly. "Is this why you've been so upset about Camille?" 

"Mostly it's for the reasons I said before--and what I talked about at the funeral. But there's this little voice that keeps nagging at me that she made her cry for help to me and I missed it. Ignored it. Cut her off." 

"If you'd stayed and talked, you probably would have gotten sick there or passed out. Either way, buddy, nature was taking it out of your hands. You weren't well enough to stay there and counsel students. Even if you assume the worst--that Camille was coming to you with her final cry for help--it was beyond your control that you were too ill to talk to her. Besides, she could have just had a question about the class, right?" 

"That's possible." 

"Blair, you're always accessible to your students. They have your phone number, you drop everything if they show up at your office with a problem. Don't beat yourself up for one time you were too sick to serve their needs." 

"But this might have cost her her life," Blair said quietly, his voice breaking. "I'm sorry." He swiped at the tears that came again, and Jim moved his chair around to sit next to his partner. He put his arms around the smaller form and pulled him close. 

"Whatever was wrong with Camille, it wasn't your fault, Chief. You have no way of knowing that she had anything significant to say on a personal level that day, and even if she did, no way is it your fault that she took her own life. It's tragic, but it's not your fault." 

"Then why do I feel so guilty?" Blair asked through tears he'd finally given up on controlling. They flowed and he leaned into Jim, fastening his arms around his friend. 

"Because you care so much about those kids and they confide in you--you're like the Pied Piper around that campus. You are going to be the most incredible professor, Darwin. I'm so damned proud of you. You have nothing to be guilty about because you were sick, or because Camille was depressed or because she took her own life." 

"I want to believe that," Blair replied weakly, sniffling a little. 

"Have I ever lied to you?" 

"Not about anything important," Blair responded, drawing a little chuckle out of Jim. 

"I'm going to find out why this happened, buddy. You just hang on. I know you need to know." 

"How?" 

"Just leave it to me." Jim patted Blair's back and gave him a last squeeze before moving away. "Feel better?" he asked, trying to catch the gaze of the red-rimmed eyes. Blair nodded. "You know this isn't your fault, right?" There was a pregnant pause. "Blair?" 

"I know. I didn't do anything intentionally wrong, but what if--" 

"Sandburg, for the last time, you almost passed out on me on the way home. You were sick. You wouldn't have been alert enough to really tune into her and give her your best advice or attention anyway. And this still probably would have happened and then you'd feel like you failed her. It was an unfortunate thing that you were sick when you were, but it certainly isn't something you chose to do." 

"I know. I just...I feel so bad about this. All of us saw her several times each week, and nobody _did_ anything to help. I should have known when she didn't sign up for that trip to the Mayan exhibit at the museum that something was wrong." 

"Why? People have other commitments. Why would you see her missing one exhibit as a danger signal?" 

"I don't know." Blair's voice sounded shaky again, and Jim realized that cross-questioning him wasn't the answer, and he wasn't ready to be reasoned with just yet. 

"I didn't mean to cross-examine you, Chief. I just don't want you to feel so lousy about something that wasn't your fault." Jim slid his arm around Blair's shoulders and gave him a little squeeze. "You want some of that tea? I can put the water back on." "Did you mean what you said before?" Blair looked up at him. 

"Of course I did. None of this is your fault." 

"That's not the part I mean. You said you were proud of me. That you thought I was going to be a good professor. Did you mean that? I mean, I know I kind of get on everybody's nerves at the PD because I go off on tangents about academic things and bore everybody to death sometimes, and I--" 

"And we're all guilty of being a bunch of rude bastards who are just fortunate that you don't call us on it." Jim let his hand move up and down a little where it rested on Blair's upper arm. "I'm very proud of your incredible range of knowledge, the way you can call on it at a moment's notice when we're on a case, and I just know that any students who have you for a teacher are very lucky." 

"Wow," Blair said softly, visibly moved by Jim's words. 

"Yeah, wow. My thought exactly." Jim gave the smaller set of shoulders another squeeze and without thinking about it, planted a small kiss on Blair's temple. Clearing his throat, he moved away a little and recoiled his arm. "I'll get us some tea, okay?" 

"Thanks." Blair still seemed a bit stunned, but he didn't say anything else. 

* * *

Jim approached the impressive entrance to his childhood home for the first time since the resolution of the murder case that had forced him back into active contact with his father. In the months that had followed, he had shared a dinner with the elder Ellison and at Blair's insistence, had invited him to join them at a Jags game instead of Simon when Jim was able to get a third ticket. Dinner had been strained, since Jim was loathe to tear open a lifetime of old wounds while eating some exotic pasta dish at an expensive restaurant. That had left them with congenial small talk. The game had been marginally more enjoyable, but that had been due to Blair's presence, which seemed to not only calm Jim's edginess, but the younger man's endless ability to make conversation with anyone about anything had kept the evening moving. 

Now, here he was again, relying on his father for guidance on a case. 

"Jimmy! What's the occasion?" his father asked, visibly pleased to see his son. Jim still had trouble seeing the older man in the sport shirts and cardigan sweaters as the power broker who raised him. William Ellison stood aside and motioned Jim to come inside, which he did. 

"I need your help on a case." Jim took in his father's startled expression. "Well, actually, it's not an official case, but it's something I would like to get an answer to anyway." 

"Come in and sit down. Sally made cookies earlier, if you're hungry. Would you like some coffee?" The anxious offers his father was making, obviously trying to be the perfect host and make Jim's visit a pleasant one, softened the younger man somewhat. 

"Coffee sounds great. Thanks." 

"Why don't we have it in the kitchen? I don't think you'll want to leave without trying the cookies. You remember Sally's baking." 

"Very well," Jim admitted, smiling and following his father through the large house to the kitchen, where they sat at the table and drank coffee out of mugs his father filled. The plate of cookies sat seductively in the middle of the table, and before long, both men were reaching for them. 

"So what's the new case?" 

"Actually, it's a suicide. One of Blair's best students committed suicide a couple of weeks ago, and it's pretty much a mystery why she did it--at least it's nothing obvious. She was healthy, got top grades, and was already asking Blair about grad school--and she was only a sophomore." 

"J.R.'s daughter?" 

"You've heard about it then?" 

"First time I went back to the club after I got home from Florida. Terrible tragedy. No one mentioned the whole situation with her former roommate, I take it?" 

"No," Jim responded, his interest piqued. 

"I talked to J.R.'s brother about...what was her name again?" 

"Camille." 

"Right. I knew it started with a 'C'. Anyway, Ben Roberts and I were a team on the club's golf league last summer, and they were just going through this whole mess with Camille and some other girl she had been sharing an apartment with. From what I understood, they were more than friends." 

"Camille was having a lesbian relationship?" 

"I don't know if it went that far. I just know Ben was upset about the fact that the two girls were 'too close'--his words, and he mentioned that J.R. was insisting Camille stop trying to rebel by taking a lesbian lover." 

"Seems an odd way to rebel." 

"Ben didn't think it was rebellion. He said Camille rarely did things for show, and that he believed she really cared for this other girl...Lori something. Last I heard, Camille had moved out of the apartment she was sharing with Lori." 

"That could be significant. Certainly opens up a whole new avenue to investigate." 

"Why are you so worried about this if it's no longer an open case?" 

"Blair took this very hard. He was sick with the flu the last time Camille stopped in to see him, and he wasn't able to talk to her. A week later, she was dead. He can't seem to accept that it isn't his fault. I need to prove it to him." 

"You care quite a bit about him, don't you, son?" William Ellison's tone was somewhat softer than it had been, and he was smiling slightly. 

"Blair's been there for me. He's my best friend. Best one I've ever really had." 

"You don't think there's any danger he'd become distressed enough about this...to...?" The older man shrugged slightly, as if at a loss for how to say it. 

"I don't think Blair would ever take his own life. But I know the guilt is tearing him apart, no matter how many times I try to tell him it isn't his fault. He keeps thinking her cry for help went unanswered because he was too sick to stay in his office and talk to her that day. He feels responsible. I can't seem to reach down in there and _change_ that. So I have to find a way to explain her death. Something that's going to give him some peace." 

"You think this information will help?" 

"Yes, I think it could. I'll have to find this Lori she was rooming with. But at least now I have something to look at." Jim smiled. "Your golf league must be worse than an old lady's coffee klatch." Jim's father laughed at that assessment. 

"Well, you put a bunch of aging retired executives in one place and the only thing they have left to manage is their kids' lives--whether their kids know it or not." His smile remained as he continued, "Almost as bad as me bragging about my son the star detective, military hero." 

"What?" Jim's expression could only be described as slightly open-mouthed and stunned. "You talk about _me_? Stephen's the big shot." 

"I'm proud of both my boys, Jimmy. Stephen's done very well--moved up the ladder very fast for a man his age. That doesn't change the fact that you've accomplished a great deal, only in a different area. And let's face it, I can draw a bigger crowd at the clubhouse telling how my son just collared another serial killer than I can telling them how much Stephen just acquired in stock options." It was Jim's turn to laugh. 

"I supposed the serial killers are a little more lurid bar conversation than the stock market." 

"All joking aside--you've made me very proud, son. I...I always was very proud of you." He watched Jim's eyes meet his, his son seeming progressively more shocked with each revelation. "My God, you never really understood that, did you?" 

"The last time we had a real talk, you told me I was a freak," Jim said quietly, averting his eyes back to his coffee mug. "That's not easy to forget. How in the hell could you be proud of me? I was on the borderline of being the crazy relative you kept in the attic." 

"I never said you _were_ a freak, Jimmy. I didn't want you to be treated like one. I didn't want you to be some kind of...of circus attraction. That's no life for a child." 

"Neither is feeling that your father thinks you're an aberration." 

"Oh, God, Jimmy, I never said you were. I thought you understood that I wanted to protect you." 

"Maybe that's easy for an adult to sort out, but for a twelve-year-old kid who can't close his eyes to sleep at night without seeing images of corpses and killers and wondering when the man he saw in the woods is coming back--" Jim took in a shaky breath. "This isn't solving anything. That was a long time ago, and I'm sure you meant well." 

"Don't be polite, Jim. Say what you feel. For God's sake, don't be polite to me." 

"Do you have any idea...how...desperate I felt? Do you know how it feels to know there's a maniac loose, and you know who he is, and no one will listen? To see an innocent man arrested...and then..." Jim took a quick drink of his coffee as if to push down his emotions with the hot liquid. "I came here to ask about Camille Roberts, not revisit a lot of old ghosts." 

"You were always a good boy, Jim. You were a good student, a fine athlete... I was just trying to...to _groom_ you to be something great, the way my father groomed me. I could see the potential you had, and I wanted to develop it to the utmost. And I didn't want you to have a miserable, exploited life, so when something cropped up that would have made you stand out, I wanted to smooth it out." 

Jim looked at his father, and he could almost forgive the old man who sat there now, worry lining his face. He hadn't made his parenting error with malicious intent. //You never even held me, comforted me about Bud...not once.// Jim thought about the way he had so often ignored, overlooked, or even been insensitive to Blair's grief over the loss of a friend. And so eager to please him, Blair had learned to stuff it down inside and then crawl off somewhere and cry alone. Jim had become his father for a few less than shining years, but now was grateful to have had an awakening of sorts. That awakening had come when he saw Blair's pain in its raw, open form, and when he'd felt the warmth spread through him at gathering his crying friend into his arms and making it a little better, if only for the moment. 

"Jim?" 

"I have to go," Jim responded to his father's concerned probe to shake him out of his retreat into his own mind. Standing, Jim smiled slightly. "Look, Dad, I know things are probably never going to be perfect between us. But I'm not walking around...hating you for something that happened all those years ago. It's just...something I can't reconcile in my mind, and I guess I have to just leave it there." 

"I did a lot of things wrong, son. I know that now. But at the time--" 

"You did what you thought was right." 

Jim took a deep breath and expelled it slowly, almost smiling at the image of Blair in his lotus position, trying to coach a twitchy, impatient Jim to sit on the floor and meditate, and coaching him on his breathing. When Blair's directive to "do your breathing" reached Jim, he had responded with "and push, push, push!!" like an overexcited Lamaze coach. Both men had ended up in a fit of laughter, which seemed to do them more good than meditating. 

"And you're okay with that now?" Jim's father was smiling, and Jim realized that the memory had finally made him grin, despite his inclinations to the contrary. Looking at his aging father, he decided life was too short to spend it beating up on an old man who so obviously longed for a place in his life. 

"I'm getting there, Dad." Jim patted the other man's shoulder. "Thanks for your help. I'll let you know what I find out." 

"I hope you do. Tell Blair I said 'hello'." William Ellison followed his son to the front door. "It was wonderful seeing you again, and...and talking. I hope...maybe we could get together soon?" 

"I'll call you." 

"Sounds great. Be careful out there," his father called as Jim started down the front steps. 

"Will do. I'll be in touch," Jim concluded, reaching his truck and climbing inside. 

* * *

Jim spent most of an afternoon on the phone, getting the run-around from almost everyone he could track down who knew Camille. He finally found Lori Palmer strictly by accident when he called the Residential Life office at Rainier to see if he could get any information on the dead student and her former housing arrangements. Lori Palmer was the student worker who answered the phone. Jim arranged to meet her at a small restaurant near the campus the next morning. 

Lori Palmer was an attractive brunette with large brown eyes and wavy hair that brushed her shoulders. She was dressed in a simple black dress and chunky heeled shoes with very little jewelry. 

"Detective Ellison?" she asked as she approached the table where he waited for her. 

"Yes. You must be Ms. Palmer. Please, sit down," he invited, standing as she took a seat. 

"Please call me Lori." 

"Okay, Lori. I appreciate your willingness to talk to me about Camille." 

"I was pretty surprised to hear from you. I didn't think the police investigated suicides." 

"It's not official anymore. It's personal. I guess the detective in me just can't let it go. Lori, I don't know how to be delicate about this, so I'm just going to say it--" 

"Was I having a lesbian relationship with Camille--that's the question, right?" 

"Yes." 

"No. She wanted it--Camille was a person who loved very deeply when she loved, and she loved without gender bias. We were soulmates in every other way, and Camille wanted to move it to the next level. I didn't. I loved her as a friend, but not like that. I've always been straight. I've got a boyfriend...well, a fiancee now." The girl's voice sounded much more strained, and she looked down at her folded hands as they rested on the table. "I told Camille about getting engaged to Ryan two days before..." 

"She was still trying to pursue the relationship?" 

"Not really." Lori sighed and slumped back in her chair, finally meeting Jim's eyes. "Her parents were upset because they walked in on us kissing one time--her mom had a key to the apartment. You know, it was funny--we were experimenting. I knew it meant so much to Cami, and I wanted to see if I could, you know, handle it. But her parents come walking in and her mom freaks out and they just about disown her on the spot." 

"But you weren't interested in moving any further with Camille?" 

"I don't know. I mean, no, I wasn't after they came bursting in on us--and I think they walked in without knocking purposely to see if they caught us at something because Cami said her mother had been on her about talking about me all the time and not dating boys, crap like that. But after that, I just figured the whole thing was going to be a big hassle, and I wasn't really too sure about getting physical with a woman anyway, so eventually I told Cami it was over and that I would move out, so she could keep the apartment. She said she didn't want to live there without me--it was ugly. She was crying, promising she'd never come near me again if I just wouldn't leave...the long and short of it was that she moved out the next day, and the next time I saw her was on campus, and she told me about the new apartment she'd found and gave me her address and phone number." 

"Did you keep in touch?" 

"We got together once in a while. I still valued her friendship, that never changed. And I hated hurting her. But Ryan knew about what had happened before with Cami, and he thought it would be a good idea to cool things off with her and let her know I was engaged, and that I would be seeing a lot less of her." 

"You told her that two days before--" 

"I didn't realize until Cami died that no one has ever loved me the way she did. Not even Ryan. I don't even know now if I _want_ to marry the SOB." 

"Doesn't sound like it." 

"Cami was my best friend. She would have kept her promise and kept her hands to herself. But he couldn't handle her being around, or us being friends, so I had to get pretty nasty with her when I told her. She didn't understand why my getting married meant I couldn't have friends. So I just told her I was too uncomfortable with what had happened between us, and I thought it would be better if we just went our separate ways. She didn't say much, but I could see how much I'd hurt her. She sounded really final when she said good bye that day, and I think her decision was made." 

"She didn't have any idea about your engagement prior to that?" 

"She knew I was dating Ryan, but she didn't know it was very serious. I didn't like pouring salt in the wound, so I didn't give her a lot of details about our relationship." 

"You had a right to make a choice Camille didn't like." 

"I know that. I don't really think it's my fault--I mean, if a relationship isn't right, you have to break it off. I have to move on from this, but it's damned hard. I do know that Cami had a lot of pressures on her from home--she was just discovering her sexuality fully, and it wasn't going in the direction her parents wanted. So I think a lot of things piled up on her, and this was just the trigger. At least I _have_ to think that way." 

"I think that's probably a very wise way to look at it." 

"I have to be at work in fifteen minutes, so I better go," she said, standing up. "I hope that helped?" 

"It did. I really appreciate you being so open with me." 

"Yeah...well, worrying about closets is what killed Camille. The least I can do for her memory is tell someone that I loved her." And with that, Lori turned and hurried out of the restaurant. 

* * *

Jim watched from the hall as Blair lectured. The class wasn't large, and every pair of eyes were riveted on the young man moving around the front of the room, all gestures and animation, describing the culture of some primitive tribe he'd observed on one of his many field expeditions. Jim loved watching Blair undetected like this. His guide was a born teacher, and there was something magical about his interaction with his students. 

Blair finally dismissed the class, and Jim watched him visibly deflate as the students left the room. With the somber expression on his face that was characteristic since Camille's suicide, he started packing up his notes. 

"Hey there, Chief," Jim greeted, walking into the empty classroom. 

"How long have you been here?" 

"Just a few minutes. The truck's parked in the No-Parking zone out front, so do you think you could put a nickel in it, buddy?" Jim asked, smiling a little. 

"Sure. I thought you were going to wait for me over by the library building," Blair commented tiredly, gathering his pile of notes and books under his arm. He was surprised when Jim relieved him of his burden. 

"Figured I'd save you the hike across campus. We have to talk." 

"What's wrong?" Blair asked as they started walking down the hall toward the exit. 

"Nothing's wrong, buddy. Don't worry about it. I just have a few things I want to talk over with you, so I took the afternoon off." 

"You t--" Blair stopped dead in his tracks. "Jim, what's going on?" 

"I'll explain when we get home. I told you it's nothing bad so don't worry about it." 

"Okay," Blair agreed hesitantly, falling back into step with Jim. 

Jim tossed his keys in the basket as they entered the loft, and Blair followed suit. Finally settled on opposite ends of the smaller of the two couches, Jim told Blair the story of Camille's ill-fated relationship with Lori, the pressure from her parents to abandon her path toward an "alternate lifestyle", and the timing of Lori's revelation of her plans to marry her boyfriend. 

"I just wanted you to understand that it really, truly wasn't your fault. I know you never believed that fully, and I figured if I could find out what _did_ push the final button with her that made her take her own life, maybe you could find some peace about this." 

"But she still might have wanted to talk to me--" 

"Blair, listen to me. We are all ultimately responsible for what we do to ourselves. The point is, you can blame Lori or her boyfriend or Camille's parents ten times more easily than you can hang the blame on yourself, and if I know you, the wheels are turning a hundred miles an hour to explain to me all the reasons it's not their fault. I don't think it is. I think some of their actions were less than noble, and in some cases they were unfortunate and they hurt Camille, but none of those people wanted her to die. But even if you had sat for hours with her that day and counseled her and let her pour out her miseries, knowing that Lori was gone for good, and there was no hope at all, and that even their friendship was ending--that probably would have pushed her over the edge anyway. That was the trigger, Chief. It was nothing you did or didn't do." Jim watched as Blair nodded slowly, then raised his lowered eyes again to meet Jim's intense gaze. 

"I guess you're right." 

"I guess I am." 

"I can't believe you did all this." Blair's brows drew together in a look of confusion. "She was a suicide case. Why...?" He shrugged and let the question trail off. 

"I couldn't watch you slowly tear yourself apart with all this guilt. I knew you needed proof. Some things you just can't take on faith, and I knew this was one of them." 

"It means so much to me that you would do this for me," Blair said quietly. "You're so busy, and to go and talk to these people--and to talk to your dad--God, Jim, I know that's not easy for you. But to have you do it just for me..." 

"There isn't a hell of a lot I wouldn't do for you, Chief," Jim said hesitantly. "I can't really think of anything at the moment." 

"I feel the same way," Blair responded, moving over to settle against Jim as the larger man's arms opened to receive him. The embrace surrounded him with its usual warmth and security. "I love you, Jim." The words slipped out effortlessly as Blair was held close against Jim's chest, the familiar heartbeat thumping reassuringly beneath his ear. 

"I love you too, Blair," came the quiet, strained reply as Jim's hand slid into Blair's warm curls, massaging his scalp. 

"I wish things had worked for Camille and Lori." 

"Me too, Chief. Camille's life should never have been lost so unnecessarily." 

"It's scary...you know...to have feelings you know you aren't supposed to have...and...and know they could mess up your whole life." 

"I know." Jim's soft-spoken statement made Blair pull back enough to look in the other man's eyes. 

"I'm scared," he admitted, his voice shaking a little. He was terrified of what might come out of Jim's mouth next. 

"Me too," Jim replied, just before slowly lowering his head to touch his lips gently against Blair's in a nearly chaste first kiss. 

"Is this...what you want, too?" Blair asked, breathless with rising desire that warred with fear. 

"I want you. If that's what you want," Jim added, blushing a little as if he thought there was a possibility Blair might change his mind, or that he'd read the younger man's signals all wrong. 

"When I said I loved you...I...I meant the real thing." 

"So did I." 

"So, ah, have you ever...you know...made it with a guy before?" 

"You'll be the first," Jim responded, softly, then kissed Blair again, more thoroughly this time, mouths opening, tongues meeting and dancing briefly before the contact was broken. "And the last," he added, capturing the lush lips again, spending even longer sliding his tongue against Blair's, memorizing his taste. "And the only," he concluded, resting their foreheads together and stroking Blair's flushed face. "I don't want to jerk off and experiment with you. I want the real thing." 

"How long...when did you know?" 

"This afternoon." 

"What?!" Blair's head shot up, his eyes wide. "Man, if this is just something that's coming up because of what Lori said about Camille... Don't do this because you feel sorry for me, man. Please don't do it because you think I want it." 

"You didn't?" Jim asked, his voice almost gone with the fear that Blair had just played along with him. 

"More than anything I've ever wanted before. But you can't live your life being what someone else wants. It wouldn't have worked for Lori to give herself over to Camille if she didn't really want her. I don't want you to feel trapped into loving me because you're afraid I'm going to kill myself if you don't." 

"Oh, man." Jim let out a long breath. "That has nothing to do with why I love you, Chief. Yes, it has something to do with why I _told_ you today--why I wanted us to lay our cards on the table. I'm not exactly in a low risk profession, and I don't want to get taken out suddenly and not have told you how I feel. Or not ever have touched you...kissed you like we just did..." 

"But you mean you had these feelings--?" 

"I had the feelings, I just didn't want to put the right name on them. Friendship just doesn't cut it anymore. But if, for any reason, you _don't_ feel the same way, tell me now. I won't get angry, I--" 

"Kiss me again?" Blair asked, moving up to cover Jim's mouth with his own before the other man could answer. 

They spent long minutes that way, finally moving a little to stretch out on the couch, kissing until both felt the beginnings of other stirrings. 

"Not here, baby," Jim whispered hotly into Blair's ear. "The first time...we do it right. Upstairs. In bed." 

Jim nudged at the warm body that blanketed him, and Blair moved aside so he could stand. Jim looked back down at his partner sitting there, hair disheveled, lips red and swollen from their marathon of kisses, and before he knew it, was on his knees in front of his seated partner. He trailed a finger over the full lips, and drew in a breath as they closed around the digit, licking and sucking at the tip. All the while, smoky blue eyes bore into his soul. 

"Blair," Jim finally found a voice, though only a strained one. "I don't want to have sex with you...I want to make love with you." 

"If you take me upstairs, I'm not sharing our bed with anybody else, ever again. I'll be faithful to you until the day I die, but I won't share you. I...I can't. If I could give you that--this--with no strings, I would. I know I don't have anything to offer you for a lifetime. I can't give you a family, you have to hide it from your friends--" 

"I don't want anyone else." 

"Jim...you've been with women all your life. How do you know that having sex with me is going to do the trick for you?" 

"The same way you know that the minute we start really _making love_ , it's going to be the start of forever. There aren't words. But in your heart, you know it too." 

"You think it's something, you know, that comes from this whole sentinel thing? I mean, I'm the only one who knows, and that kind of isolates you with just me--" 

"I think it's something that comes from you. I love you, Blair." Jim grasped Blair's shoulders. "I. Love. You." 

"I never thought I'd hear the words," Blair said in a whisper. The moisture in his eyes sparkled a little in the last rays of sunshine as the afternoon surrendered to evening. 

"Come to bed with me." Jim stood up and held out a hand, which Blair accepted. He pulled the younger man to his feet. 

The walk up the stairs was a blur of necessary movement. Clothing was opened and discarded with tender efficiency. The two men embraced and fell together on the bed, resuming the passionate kissing they'd interrupted earlier. 

Jim finally relinquished Blair's mouth to explore his jaw, his throat, his shoulders, his chest, paying an oral homage to Blair's body that left him unable to do anything but moan his approval and arch into the wet caresses, his hands moving over the rippled muscles and into the soft hair of the man making love to him. Jim's tongue flicked and teased already firm nipples until Jim fastened his mouth on one of the small buds, loving the loud cry of pleasure and surprise from his lover. Finding his voice, Jim slid back up to kiss the full lips, then whisper in Blair's ear. 

"I love the way you taste. You're in every sense. There's nothing in my world right now but you, baby. You're everything." 

"Oh, God...Jim...love you," Blair gasped in reply, spreading his legs to accommodate the straining erection Jim had brought about with his mouth, and then his words. 

Soon, those soft, wet lips were trailing down his stomach, the tongue darting into the little valley of Blair's navel, then detouring around the impressive arousal. Jim paid special attention to the velvety sacs there, licking and finally taking one into his mouth. Blair screamed then, gathering handfuls of the sheet and drawing his knees up so his feet were flat on the bed. Jim moved from the first oval to the second, treating it to the same loving attention. 

Knowing he didn't have the experience or the technique to accommodate the full length of the impressive shaft with his mouth and throat, he wrapped his hand around the base and enclosed the upper portion in the wet heat of his mouth. 

"J-Jim...Oh...God...I...I love...you," Blair panted, barely able to speak between gasps of pleasure as Jim's hand and mouth worked in tandem to pleasure him. The wet heat moved away a moment, long enough for Jim to wet a finger. Then, returning his mouth to Blair's cock, he slipped the very tip of the moistened digit into the little puckered entrance to Blair's body. The younger man pulled his knees up toward his chest, giving Jim permission and easy access to his center. "More," he groaned, trying to bear down on the finger that was determined to be maddeningly gentle and tentative. 

Jim didn't answer. He could feel the distant thunder of Blair's approaching orgasm, and his mouth was too busy giving pleasure to speak. He didn't doubt that he could have taken Blair right then and there, but he was too close to his own climax to be gentle and take the time to do it right. 

"I--I can't hold on...Jim...I...JIIIIIIMMM!!" Blair's body stiffened and the hot spurts of bitter liquid pulsed down Jim's throat as he worked to swallow it all, unwilling to pull away and refuse any part of Blair. When it was over, he slid up next to his lover and pulled the pliant body into his arms as the last of the shudders faded. 

"You're beautiful...do you know that?" Jim whispered against Blair's ear then kissed it. The younger man seemed drowsy, almost at the point of slipping into sleep in his sated state. Jim's very significant arousal was poking him in the thigh, and it was not an easy entity to ignore. 

"How'd you...do that?" he asked groggily. 

"You expect me to give way all my secrets?" 

"Just the good ones," Blair replied languidly. He trailed a hand down Jim's firm body until he encountered the rigid cock awaiting attention. "If you want, I can...uh...turn over and..." 

"It's too close, baby. Just use your hand. It's okay," Jim managed. "Just do what makes you feel good when you touch yourself," Jim instructed gently, their faces only inches apart as Blair hesitantly took a hold of Jim's cock. "It won't break off, Chief. Pump like you do your own." 

Blair was a quick study. He soon picked up the tempo of his strokes, dragging little staccato pants of pleasure out of Jim. The larger man wasn't much for words or shouts, just little moans and grunts of pleasure as his weeping member got the attention it needed so badly from the skillful hand of his lover and life partner. The younger man seemed to awaken from his daze to kiss and lick at the nipple nearest his mouth as Jim's hand came up to tangle in his hair, holding his head close to the broad chest. 

"Blair...BLAIR!" It was shout that seemed to fill the loft and probably a couple of other lofts in the area. Jim's body spasmed and shot it's completion over Blair's hand and stomach and well as Jim's own body. 

He didn't expect Blair's next move. The younger man maneuvered himself lower on the bed, and began drawing his tongue through the spilled fluid on Jim's stomach. 

"Oh, man," Jim groaned, letting his head flop back against a nearly displaced pillow and soaking up the sensations of that determined tongue. Blair soon moved back to his side and was enfolded in a tight embrace. 

"You made it so beautiful for me. I didn't do very much for you," Blair said softly, snuggling against Jim's chest. 

"I feel pretty good right now. You did okay as far as I'm concerned." Jim kissed his forehead. "Besides, I'm sort of guilty of throwing you on the bed and eating you alive." 

"I want you to...you know...I want you to fuck me. I'm ready." 

"First of all, hear me and hear me good. When I touch you that way, I'm going to make love to you. Fucking is something you do because it feels good and you want to get off. Making love is part of being in love, sweetheart. That's the category you fit into." 

"But I wanted you like that tonight," Blair countered. 

"I think our hearts want it but our bodies aren't exactly convinced. My finger didn't make it in very far, and my cock, thank God, is a hell of a lot larger than my finger." 

"I would have loosened up." 

"You will. When we do it, we'll be ready. But I was too close to the edge to be gentle tonight." Jim ran a hand up and down Blair's damp back. "Besides, maybe I'll go first." Jim smiled while he let Blair mull that over in his mind. 

"But if I can't give you what a woman can give you in bed, then I don't have any right to ask you to be exclusive with me," Blair explained in a strained voice. "And I don't want to loose you for anything." 

"You're not going to lose me. And I didn't say we weren't _ever_ going to make love that way--I want that too. But I don't want it to hurt either one of us." Jim paused, realizing that the sleepy eyes watching him were still unconvinced. "Blair, this isn't about comparing you with a woman. I love you--there's nobody else in your league for comparison anymore, sweetheart." 

"I like it when you call me that." 

"Sweetheart? You're sure you don't mind?" 

"I always want to be your sweetheart. For the rest of my life." 

"Me too, sweetheart. Me too." 

The two men dozed off to sleep, tangled in each other's arms. Jim's last coherent thought was a silent "thank you" to Camille, whose tragic passing had let him inside Blair's defenses, and had loosened up his own normally tight tongue to finally give voice to his feelings for the man sleeping in his arms. Her life had been too brief, but she had left behind a beautiful legacy. 

End 


End file.
